


Through the Night

by mirandamyth



Series: seasons [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Castiel Out of the Empty (Supernatural), Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, First Times, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Soft Epilogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:47:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29227938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirandamyth/pseuds/mirandamyth
Summary: The motel is the same as thousands of others Dean has stayed in over the course of his life, but it's different, it's better, because he is here with Cas.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: seasons [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2066691
Comments: 8
Kudos: 85





	Through the Night

**Author's Note:**

> This series has a playlist! If you're interested, [click for spotify!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1ndOaepoTpeRgsNOyZWmVp)

After eleven hours on the road, Dean pulls into the parking lot of a motel in Pennsylvania. He could push a little farther, they could make the trip in two days’ drive, but he wants to keep this to himself for a little while longer. He wants to enjoy this, the first few days together, the first few nights, as whatever they were grows steadily into what they are now.

The neon vacancy sign glows brightly through the window, outlining Cas’ profile in ethereal blue. He’s been asleep for nearly an hour, head pillowed on a rolled up jacket, one hand stretched towards the driver’s seat. Dean takes a picture  — creates a real, physical memory of this night, of the tenuous boundary they’re halfway across.

The motel is the same as thousands of others Dean has stayed in over the course of his life. Same weird no-color carpeting, same dingy bedspread, same kitschy artwork on the walls. Today’s room isn’t as garish as some of the others have been, but the stale scent of nights past is just as prominent. 

Cas still appears half asleep when they walk in, but the way he looks at the king bed is akin to reverence. Dean has just enough time to wonder idly if that’s how Cas looks at him, before the full force of that gaze is leveled toward him. And maybe it’s because everything is out in the open, maybe it’s the dawning realization that Dean had gotten them a room with a single mattress, but Cas seems enrapt as he moves closer  — awed as he threads his fingers back through Dean’s. 

“There’s only one bed.” It's stating the obvious, stating something he already knew, but Dean can’t help the way his heart speeds up at the implication. At  _ Cas _ making the implication. 

“I could request two queens, if you’d —”

“Don’t you dare.” 

The way Cas studies him reminds Dean faintly of alleyways; of long looks under neon lights; of mouldering houses and rain coming in through the windows; of lights exploding overhead and the whistle of wind through aged wood. Then Cas is kissing him, hungrily, desperately, and there is no longer space for other thoughts. He feels his knees knock against the edge of the bed, allows himself to be pushed down. 

Cas hesitates above him; hair disheveled, face flushed, eyes dark and wild as they rake along his body. Dean reaches out, cards his fingers through dark hair to rest at the base of Cas’ neck and pulls him forward. It’s as though all he had been waiting for was permission. From the moment they reunite, Cas is unrestrained; hands working Dean’s jacket off, knees bracketing his hips, fingers sliding over any uncovered skin they can find. 

Layers of clothing hit the floor, shrugged off of shoulders and pulled over heads; hands run over every new inch of skin as it is revealed, grasping at hips and arms and waists. Dean is almost overwhelmed. He’d never thought this would actually happen; never thought he’d be able to hold Cas without the spectre of death hanging over them; never thought he would know the feeling of Cas’ bare back under his hands without the barrier of blood.

He wants to memorize every spot that makes Cas gasp, everything he can do to hear that throaty groan again. This feels like his first time; the same mix of anticipation and raw, untamed desire coursing through him. Cas catches his mouth in a bruising kiss, rocking against him wantonly. When he pulls away to work his way down the column of Dean’s throat, the shift in angle sends electricity dancing through his veins, just enough to make him crave  _ more. _

  
  
  


Afterwards, Cas curls around him, one leg slung across both of Dean’s, chin resting on his shoulder, an arm warm across his chest. Dean idly traces patterns against Cas’ spine, content for the first time in recent memory.

“I remade this body once.” Cas’ lips brush against the shell of his ear as he fits his hand around the curve of Dean’s shoulder. “And I thought that meant I understood what it was to know you intimately.

“Did you know in Enochian, the words for ‘love’ and ‘worship’ are inextricably linked? We were only taught to understand love in context for what we should be feeling for our superiors, for the absent presence of God. For millennia, I thought that in order to love, I had to devote myself to something. But when I was human, I learned the difference between understanding and feeling. That there is a difference between love and devotion.”

His tone isn’t accusatory, but the hot rush of guilt floods Dean’s body anyway. His hand stills, a thousand inadequate apologies building in his mind. 

“I’ve forgiven you, Dean.” Cas murmurs against his shoulder, “If this is going to work, you need to learn how to forgive yourself. We’ll both have to learn.”

What did he ever do to deserve this? To have someone love him despite a lifetime of mistakes? Dean swallows against the lump in his throat, bites back the urge to shy away from the tenderness of the moment. Cas deserves better than that. He deserves the truth.

“I’ve been workin’ on it.  After you—” Christ, it’s hard to say. Even now, with Cas in his arms and very much  _ alive _ , he can’t bring himself to say the word. “When you were gone, I started sorting through a lot of my crap. We finally got out from under Chuck’s thumb, but I was still living in the prison he’d made for me.

“I’ve spent so long being afraid, man. I spent my whole life running and fighting, and afraid of saying the wrong thing — of saying  _ any _ thing, really. I thought it was easier not to, but maybe I was just afraid of change. But you changed everything, Cas.”

He can feel Cas’ eyes on the side of his face, but he doesn’t turn to meet them. Dean keeps his attention on a small discolored patch of the tile above him as he speaks, voice barely above a whisper. He recounts scenes from his dreams of the last six months, the good and the bad. He tells him about the awful future he’d once visited; about the unspoken agreement that the trenchcoat would switch cars with them; the horrible, broken shell he’d been after Jack was born; about the gaping hole in his life where Cas belonged.

“The night we met, you told me good things can happen, even to me. I gotta say, man, everything after that was a goddamn shit show, but you weren’t wrong.” He finally brings himself to look Cas in the eyes, half expecting an argument. But there is none, just the steady, reassuring gaze he’s missed. “You’re the best damn thing that ever happened to me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! If you liked this, let me know! Shout out to [Ironkissedfanfics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ironkissedfanfics) for reading this when I hit her up at 3am on three different nights about it!  
> come shout at me on [tumblr](https://smokerdean.tumblr.com) if you want, or [reblog](https://smokerdean.tumblr.com/post/642320403886473216) this


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